Dead Bodies. For Real.

Now there were two in the middle of her living room floor. She stared at them in horrified fascination, not really sure whether to scream or give in to her curiosity and move closer. There was an obscene amount of blood. It was pooling on her carpet and being seeped up into her couch through the blanket that had fallen half to the floor.

Finally, against her better judgment, she decided to embrace her curiosity. Careful not to step on or disturb anything, she loved watching cop shows, she moved closer to the nearest body. There was a hole in the middle of his forehead. What she could only guess was brain matter was splattered with the blood around his head. His face was frozen in a look of shock, eyes wide open and unfocused.  She moved to the other body. This one's eyes were closed. Staring at the body, it's eyes closed and the haphazard placing of the limbs, she reasoned that he had been wounded before the struggle in her apartment. Apparently, after struggling with and shooting the other man, he passed out and bleed to death.

After staring at the bodies for a few more moments, she called the police. Then, she went down to the building's coffee shop to wait. As she waited, she pondered all the reasons of why and how as she sipped her coffee. In her mind, of all the questions these two bodies proposed, the most disturbing one was, "Why were they in her apartment?"

Unfamiliar Home

She just stood there, staring. Occasionally she would take a few steps and then stop. She would then pick up an object, look at it as if seeing for the first time, and then put it back. When she encountered pictures, she would stare at them like she was trying to remember who was in them. She also muttered to herself. Nothing intelligible, but muttering none the less.

"This is a lovely home. Is it yours?" she finally asked.

I stared at her, holding back tears. "No, Mom. It's yours. This is your house."

"Oh." she replied, and then looked at me with a strange expression. "Why did you call me 'Mom'?"

An Enemy's Last Request

He shuffled nervously before the door, contemplating knocking or just leaving the package on the doorstep. He had seen war and destruction. He was a soldier. But standing here, about to apologize for a man's death had him more jittery than his first day in battle.

Finally, he knocked. After a few tense moments, he heard a shuffling behind the door. It opened only a crack.

"Can I help you, sir?" a quiet voice asked.

"I believe so, yes mam... are you Mrs. Chyng?" he asked.

"Yes." she replied hesitantly, "I don't want any trouble."

"It's no trouble. I knew your husband."

She stared at him in shock. "My husband? But you're...."

"I know. I'm the enemy. That doesn't matter. Your husband saved my life. As he was dying he asked me to bring you this package; and I said I would."

An "Oh."escaped her lips in a quiet gasp. A moment later she asked, "Would you like to come in for some tea?"

He smiled. "Thank you. I would like that."

The Abondoned Clock

She stared at the remains of the old clock. It had once been a grand and beautiful thing. It's windows had been stained glass and iron.  The building was so tall and the face was so large you could see it clearly from any where in the city. At one time, it chimed out the hours in pleasing rings and peals. Now it sat silent. many of the windows had cracked and broken during the bombings. One of the clock hands had fallen off and had probably been sold as scrap. Many of the chimes and bells had gone missing, the ones that weren't too large for one or two to carry. Thankfully, the stairs that wound their way to the top had been made of metal. If they had been wood, they would have rotted and collapsed long ago. To most people, the prospect of living in an abandoned clock building was creepy and unsettling, so much silence where there should be noise. To her, even with the broken windows and dusty floors, it was home.